I, Romulan Story 03 Eitreih'ch'Rihan
by kasviel
Summary: SLASH. YAOI. The conclusion and resolution of Tomalak and Bochra's time on Romulus before their next deployment.


**PART THREE**

**1**

It was not love that came between Bochra and Tomalak during the remainder of the week, however, it was the Eitreih'ch'Rihan. Tomalak had preparations for his grand party to oversee, and Bochra had his House's own pittance of a celebration to help with. Saeihr reappeared in Bochra's life, suggesting that the House of Gavik instead join with her clan for the festivities. Gavik was delighted, and so their small family joined the broken, if still large, group at Saeihr's home during the week before the Eitreih'ch'Rihan.

Bochra was caught between guilt and envy during the stay at what had been Jarok's estate. The shrewd side of his mind began to seriously consider marrying Saeihr and becoming the hru'Hfirh of this admirable House. After all, Tomalak and S'vrian had gained much political power simply by marrying regardless of bond, and despite their recent turmoil, they had both gained much. Bochra's House was unimportant and ignored. He knew that no matter how much honor he might gain, he could never match the respect the House of Jarok could bring him. With Tomalak supporting him in secret, and Saeihr as his ailhun, he could possibly achieve a semblance of importance- even greatness.

These thoughts were wont to wash away with guilt whenever he passed a portrait of Jarok, or saw him through the large, dark eyes of his paenhe [Romulan: "Daughter". He was the only one in the house that knew of Jarok's defection, and the role Tomalak had played in it. He knew Saeihr would hate him for keeping the secrets from her, yet he kept them nonetheless. Not only did he withhold the truth, he went on with the charade of being her friend, never once stopping her from believing they may become more than friends. A double betrayal.

Still, Bochra said nothing, and it was not the only loose end he was letting go untied. The matter of Taibak's relationship with him still weighed heavily on his mind. It had not been love, but he had thought they shared something significant during their brief time together. Taibak had shared his past with him as openly as he had shared his bed. Surely, that was not only part of some scheme? Yet he _was_ part Vulcan, and his hatred of Tomalak was evident. Had it all been only a lie? Why, then, had he interfered with S'vrian in defense of Tomalak and Bochra's relationship? If it was all a plan, what in Romulus could that plan be?

The morning before the festivities, Bochra considered staying in bed. A heavy mood had settled on him, and all his worries flooded his mind. So much turmoil before breakfast was usually a bad sign, and the youth covered his head with his quilt and buried himself in the plush sheets. For the moment, he would have married Saeihr to keep the luxuriously soft and warm bed.

Nonetheless, Bochra could not put his mind back to rest after waking. He tossed and turned, closed his eyes, but could not sleep any more. Grudgingly, he dragged himself out of bed and braced himself for the day.

He arrived at the morning meal late, to find Saeihr and her ri'Nanov, Aidoann. Bochra greeted them both formally, sat down to eat. He noticed with discomfort that his place had been set beside Saeihr's. She smiled at him, before resuming the morning chatter with Aidoann.

Bochra eyed the matron as he ate quietly, pondering her. He had always heard that Jarok and his wife were an honored military couple, but had never met Aidoann in person. He had expected her to be as Jarok and Saeihr were: soft-spoken but determined, polished, kind. Enriov ["Senior Commander" – Starfleet equivalent: "Vice Admiral"] Aidoann turned out to be the exact opposite of the two, however. She was joyful, but in a rough, almost masculine way. She spoke loudly and honestly, with the hard steel of Galae life never leaving her voice. She was a tall, solidly built woman, whose curves were all straightened and hidden by her uniform-like clothing. Her hair was cut short, in the classic style of the Romulan soldier.

At the moment, Aidoann was cursing the weather in her colorful, creative way. Saeihr mourned along with her, albeit not so intensely. The rain had not abated, and it had the entire Capitol in bad spirits. The Eitreih'ch'Rihan had been rained on before, but the rain was taken as a bad omen, and made the grand firework shows impossible.

Bochra joked and talked with the two women for a time. Then, he used helping with preparations as an excuse to take some time alone. He excused himself, and went to work fetching the remainder of the decorations for the gazebo set up in the gardens. He walked around the bustling household, unused to the large amount of people that filled a successful House. It made him realize how small and feeble his House was. This was the norm for Romulus, yet it felt foreign to him.

Once again, he was struck with wrongful aspirations, and the prospect of marrying Saeihr went through his mind. So many people tending to so many aspects of the House, taking care of it and protecting it. To be the master of all this, to be hru'Hfirh of the House of Jarok . . .

Bochra drew a breath and let it out slowly. Staying here was no good. He had to leave soon, before the last of his sympathy for Saeihr was burned away by the flames of his ambition.

Outside in the gardens, Bochra happened upon his father. Gavik was sitting beneath the gauzy, silvery curtains that fluttered in the rainy wind from one of the tents. His eyes, large and deep brown like Bochra's, stared out and above at a gathering of birds atop the tall trees lining the garden. He turned his chair as Bochra approached, looking up at his son.

Bochra was attempting to simply carry his crate of decorations by without speaking, but Gavik put a hand on his arm before he went by.

"Faelirh."

Bochra stopped, though he did not put down the crate. "di'Ranov." He paused, shifting the box in his arms. "Jolan'tru."

"Jolan'tru."

There was an uncomfortable silence between the two, that of those who did not quite know how to speak with one another. It was painful to be so unnatural with a parent, and Bochra wished Gavik would simply leave him be.

"Bochra, I . . . " Gavik tried to smile, but it was more of a grimace. "I'm sorry. Are you busy?"

"Well, yes, I was bringing these to the other side of the gardens," Bochra said. He glanced around. "I was also looking for Rhioa to help me. Have you seen her?"

"Rhioa is . . . I sent her back home."

Bochra's attention snapped fully to his father now. "Home? Why? I thought we were free to bring whomever we chose to join us."

"We are. Aidoann has been very generous with her invitation."

"Then why did you send Rhioa back?"

Gavik's chair soundlessly slid aside, and he stared out at the trees again. " . . . Bochra, have you spoken with Rhioa recently?"

Bochra set down the crate slowly. "Ie. I have spoken with her- concerning you."

Gavik nodded wearily. "I figured that you had. Bochra, not that I do not understand your intentions, but you really should not have spoken so personally with her."

"My intentions? My intentions have nothing to do with it," Bochra said, trying to keep his temper in check. "Rhioa's intentions are what should matter to you, di'Ranov. Rhioa, who has stood by you all these years, and who only wishes to help you."

"I understand, but-"

"But what?" Bochra shot back. "What, di'Ranov? How can you . . . You just sent her away? She only wants to help you salvage some part of your existence. Why would you- How _could_ you do that to her?"

"As I have been trying to say, Bochra, I **understand** your feelings, and Rhioa's," Gavik said, his tone becoming sterner. "But the way I choose to exist, or not, is my business, not either of yours."

"But you _chose_ to live, didn't you?" Bochra asked. "Didn't you!"

Gavik's lips tightened into a thin line, an expression that made him look quite like his son.

"I don't understand, di'Ranov," Bochra went on. "Why would you choose to live, only to stop living? Why not simply go ahead with suicide?"

"I didn't choose this life, Bochra!" Gavik exclaimed, hitting his hands on the arms of his mobility chair.

"But you chose to keep it!" Bochra yelled back. "Why? Why did you?"

"I DIDN'T!"

Bochra frowned in confusion. "What the hell do you mean? What do you _mean_? You were the one that didn't go through with the suicide! Of course you chose it!"

Gavik gritted his teeth. "I _did not_ choose it."

"If not you, then who did? Fate?" Bochra asked cynically. "The universe? What?"

Gavik's eyes lifted to a spot behind Bochra's shoulder. " . . . Why not ask your Riov?"

Bochra whipped around, coming shocked face to shocked face with Tomalak.

"How was this fate chosen for me, Tomalak?" Gavik asked him.

Tomalak's eyes widened, and he looked uncharacteristically distressed. He gave Gavik a pleading look. "Old friend, I . . . thought that it was your wish to-"

"Dhat," sighed Gavik. "I believe it is time that Bochra knew the truth. In any case, I can't . . . I can't lie to him anymore."

Bochra looked between the two in angry confusion. He was so used to monopolizing Tomalak that he had almost forgotten Gavik was his closest friend. An irrational jealousy of their bond shot through him.

"I . . . Bochra." Tomalak turned to him. " . . . Ie. I suppose it is time that you knew. We should have no secrets now."

Bochra met his eyes, and he saw the deeper meaning of the words. He nodded.

"Your father did not choose this life, Bochra," Tomalak said quietly. His eyes were moist, which Bochra had never seen before. "He prepared the ceremony, was at the altar of your house ready to fall upon his own blade. He had chosen death, Bochra. He had chosen the so-called 'honorable' path."

"But he couldn't go through with it. I knew-"

"No. No, Bochra, he would have gone through with it-" Tomalak drew a breath, taking Bochra by the shoulders. "He would have done it if it were not for me."

"_What_?"

"I came to the house for the ceremony. It was my part only to mourn with your mother and the rest of the family and friends." Tomalak paced between the father and son, his expression wrought with pain by the mere memory. "But as I stood there thinking of all the memories we shared, all he had done for me, and I for him . . . As I looked at you, Bochra, so small to be without a father . . . And I, still young to be without such a friend . . . I . . . "

Bochra watched Tomalak, numbed by the sight of tears glimmering in the Riov's eyes. The words made sense, they explained why Tomalak had always tried to protect Gavik from Bochra's misbehavior, and defend Bochra from the complete disgrace Gavik's presence brought upon the House. For all that, the youth still could hardly believe what he was hearing.

"I interrupted the ceremony," Tomalak admitted. "I went in through an empty passage. No one ever knew besides your di'Ranov and I. I told him that he could have told the truth of what happened, but he has refused . . . All these years, protecting me, Gavik,"

"No use in both our lives being ruined, Tomalak," Gavik said gently.

Tomalak flushed, looking touched, and hastily looked away from his friend. He turned back to Bochra. "I should have told you," he told him. "You deserved the truth sooner."

"I understand, I only . . . Oh, Riov Tomalak, how could you- How-"

"How could I? Why wouldn't I?" Tomalak asked heatedly. "Why should Gavik have died, Bochra? Because he had to move his career into an off-the-field one? Is there really so much shame in being a crucial military adviser and battle strategist? Is there!"

Bochra winced, though he knew Tomalak's anger was directed more at society than him. "No, but-but it would have been more honorable-"

"Fvadt! Honorable!" Tomalak exclaimed. "It is _insane_ and archaic! There are many ways to gain honor, so long as one is still breathing!"

Gavik bowed his head, quiet. Bochra was still boggling over Tomalak's unrestrained emotional display.

"Why are you so against it?"

Tomalak glanced at Bochra. His eyes traveled to Gavik, and back. "Why?" he asked, standing straighter. "Do I need some special motive to want to save a friend? Is it not enough that I could not bear his dying because of me? That I could not let him go? Is it not enough that I looked at you and could not imagine you growing up without the privilege of knowing your di'Ranov?"

"You seem especially upset."

Gavik chuckled. "He has come to know you almost as well as I do, Tomalak," he observed. "Before long, you will be unable to keep anything from him."

"I already find that I cannot."

Tomalak and Bochra shared a small, tentative smile between them.

"Ah, but later," Tomalak said, rubbing his forehead. "Later. I am tired of truths at the moment."

Bochra wanted to hold him, kiss him, but he refrained. Instead, he turned to his father, and apologized earnestly. "I am sorry, di'Ranov. I always wondered why you had chosen to live, yet never dared attempt to have a life. I believed you had made the wrong decision to spare your own life, because you never seemed to want to be alive. But now I know that you've been living an existence you did not choose, for the sake of others. I am sorry for all that I said."

"No."

Gavik and Bochra both looked in surprise at Tomalak.

"No, don't apologize, Bochra," Tomalak said. "Your words still stand true."

"But!"

Tomalak raised a hand to silence him. "Gavik." He knelt before his old friend's chair, took a hand in his own. "I will never believe that either of us chose wrong on that day. For all his complaints, I doubt Bochra would reverse it, even if he could. He spent his childhood protecting your feelings, your House's honor, though it was in shreds. Why would he do all that if not for love?"

Gavik looked up at Bochra, who shifted on his feet sheepishly.

"As for me, I would not lose you," Tomalak went on. "Nor would those that remained loyal to your House prefer you dead. Why else would they stay? Yet you refuse to believe it was right, and stubbornly _make it _the wrong decision. You do all you can to sabotage your life, as if trying to prove me wrong. Why?"

"I don't- Tomalak . . . Why ask me all this now?"

"Because the boy is right, Gavik," Tomalak said softly. "Why live if you are not alive? But you _are _alive, you simply choose not to accept it."

"What are you saying, Tomalak?"

"I'm saying that you must choose to live, Gavik, once and for all," Tomalak told him. "Do so, or die. I . . . I love you too much to stop you again, if it would be what you want."

Gavik smiled wistfully. "I could have killed myself already, you know."

"I know. And why haven't you?"

"For Bochra, I suppose. For you."

"We are no longer reason enough to live, though, are we?" Tomalak said knowingly. "Both of us, always deployed, living lives light years away from Romulus . . . That is why you're fading away, isn't it?"

Gavik swallowed hard. "I suppose."

"Can you not find another reason somewhere?" Tomalak asked desperately. "Deep in your heart, is there nothing else you can find to live for?"

"I am tired, Tomalak," Gavik said hoarsely. "Neither of you can imagine what it is like, every day strapped into this goddamned prison." His hands clutched the chair arms until his knuckles were white. "Every day standing still while the world moves by. I am tired, I . . . I am tired."

Tomalak bowed his head, and Bochra saw his shoulders shake.

"Not even for your House?" Bochra spoke up. "What kind of hru'Hfirh are you, di'Ranov?"

Tomalak snapped a warning, "Bochra. Respect."

"What is left for me to do for my house, Faelirh?" Gavik pointed out.

"Plenty!" Bochra shot back. "You are not dead, and I know you are not useless! There are those that are loyal to us, perhaps not plenty, but enough! The House still functions, and I am bringing more importance to it! But I am not ready to have it, do you understand? I do not want to marry Saeihr, nor anyone, not for a long time! And I cannot even imagine producing another generation to inherit the House!"

Gavik sighed. "Must you ruin my small hopes of a future for our family, Bochra?"

"You're the one that has ruined them!" Bochra told him. "You refuse to take part in any of the future, living as if you are already dead and buried in the past! And why? Because of one challenge you face? Then stop facing it alone! The others serve you, and I love you! I love you, and so does Rhioa."

"Ah," smiled Gavik, "so that is what this is all about."

Tomalak had gotten to his feet, and wiped a sleeve across his eyes when he thought no one was looking. "About what?"

"Rhioa is the head servant in my House," Gavik explained. "She has been concerned for me of late. She came to me to voice her fears, with Bochra's blessing, no less."

"She loves you as a wife would love you," Bochra said. "Neither of us saw it all these years, but now that you do, can you really be blind to it? di'Ranov, how _could_ you send her away?"

"Bad enough she chained herself to a worthless House, Bochra," Gavik said bitterly. "Would you have her commit to a worthless man?"

"You are not worthless, di'Ranov!"

It was Gavik's turn to gape in shock this time. "Bochra, what did you say?"

"Not unless you choose to be," Bochra told him. "And you may not have ever known it, but I forgave you for living a long time ago. I forgave you then, but if you just give up now, I will never forgive you for that."

Neither Gavik nor Tomalak could hide their surprise. Bochra felt uneasy with the attention of the two older men focused on him, and his emotions so freely displayed. He picked the crate back up, as if using it as a shield.

"I just want you to know that," he told Gavik. "You will live or you will die, and I suppose if you do die, none of this will matter to you anymore. But it will matter to Tomalak and Rhioa, and it will matter to me. It has always, and it will always matter to me, di'Ranov."

Tomalak looked impressed. Before either man could say a word, Bochra rushed away from them.

"He has grown," Gavik said as he watched his son depart across the beautiful garden. "I wish I could take the credit for his maturity, but it's been you all along, hasn't it, Tomalak?"

Tomalak felt a stab of guilt. "Not all of it," he said gently. "He is very much your son, Gavik. He has your loyalty and inner strength."

"Do you still think I am strong?"

"We all believe in your strength," Tomalak told him. "I wish you would believe it yourself."

Gavik was quiet. Though still contemplating, he asked, "What brings you to the House of Jarok?"

"I came to see you, on business, actually," Tomalak said. "After the festival, we will be deploying. The Galae thought we could use your tactical advice on several matters."

Gavik looked up at him suspiciously. "The Galae, or you, old friend?"

Tomalak smiled. "Is there a difference?"

Gavik chuckled. "Ah, of course. You are the Galae, yes?"

"Ie."

They laughed together, before taking up the military conversation.

* * *

Bochra volunteered his help to the staff after bringing them the crate of decorations. He lost himself in the quiet, mindless task of streaming the blue and green ribbons from the tree branches, weaving the garlands through the bushes. Saeihr found him after a while, standing beneath the tree he had climbed up into.

"There you are," she called up to him. "Hey, help me up?"

Bochra looked down at the girl doubtfully, but climbed down a branch and extended a hand. She took it, and lithely made her way up to the sturdy branch where he sat. Bochra finished with the ribbons, and sat beside her. She handed him a small container of water, and he drank.

"It all looks so beautiful," Saeihr said as she gazed out at her home. "For once, the whole city is colorful and fun. No arms, no uniforms, no Remans skulking around, even the Tal Shiar are forgotten."

Bochra flinched inwardly, thinking of S'vrian. "I'm not sure the Tal Shiar can ever really be put out of mind, Saeihr."

"Or the Galae, ie, khre'Arrain?" teased Saeihr. "You're so serious, aren't you?"

Bochra raised his eyebrows. "Serious?"

The girl nodded. "Ever since becoming the hero of Galorndon Core, you've been different. Not in a bad way," she added quickly, given his look. "You've grown up. I envy you."

"Don't be in such a rush to grow up, Saeihr," Bochra said. "Anyway, it's an illusion. I've started to wonder if no one ever really grows up. All we seem to do is learn how to hide our immaturity more skillfully."

"Maybe we just expect too much of growing up," Saeihr said. She looked down at her hands. "I thought that by the time my father died, I _would be _grown up. But here I am, almost done being a Serona scrub, and I still . . . I'm still not ready, Bochra. I'm not ready to be the daughter of our House."

"That's funny."

Saeihr looked at him with wide eyes. "Why?"

"Because I just told my di'Ranov that _I'm _not ready to be the son of our House."

"Oh, that is funny." Saeihr smiled wistfully. "Do you think they were like that once, Bochra? My parents, your parents, and our superiors? They're all so sure of themselves now, but do you think they were once as hesitant to step up as we are now?"

"I don't know how they felt when it was their time to come into their responsibilities," Bochra said. He thought of Tomalak and S'vrian, marrying without a life bond, of Tomalak stopping his father from honorable suicide, and of the soldier that had been unable to kill the child half-breed Taibak, and adopted him instead. Finally, he said, "I think that, when it's important, no one is ever as certain about their choices as they appear to be. When it matters, _really matters_, how can anyone be, young or old?"

"I suppose you have a point," Saeihr said. "Though the idea of staying this uncertain is more daunting than the idea of growing up."

"What are you so uncertain about, Saeihr?"

"Oh, some things." Saeihr was quiet. She shook her hair over her shoulder, looked at him. "I'll be able to deploy on a ship soon, to finish Serona training. Some of us earned the chance to put in a request for a specific vessel."

Bochra smiled, though he was instantly terrified of the idea of Saeihr wanting to deploy with him on Tomalak's ship.

"Do you think that-"

Bochra did not hear the rest of her question. A figure had appeared beneath the tree and was peering up at them. His blood chilled.

"S'vrian."

Saeihr frowned. "What?"

Bochra nodded in S'vrian's direction and began climbing down. When he was on the ground, he helped Saeihr down. S'vrian studied the two youths coolly, telling Bochra, "I was looking for you."

"Jolan'tru," Saeihr shyly greeted the woman.

S'vrian flashed her best fake smile. "Jolan'tru, Saeihr! You've grown! How is Serona?"

"Exhausting!"

S'vrian laughed. "Of course, of course."

"Did you come in with Tomalak?" Bochra asked. "He's with my father, I left them a little while ago."

"Yes, I did, but I am looking for you," S'vrian said.

Saeihr looked between them, frowning in confusion as she picked up on the spark of tension between the two. An awkward silence took hold of the three.

"I'll give you your privacy," Saeihr said suddenly with a sheepish smile. She squeezed Bochra's hand briefly. "See you later."

Bochra tried to smile. "Ie."

The Tal Shiar agent and the soldier watched the innocent girl trot away through her estate's garden. When Saeihr was out of earshot, S'vrian remarked, "Jarok's little daughter, she likes you. Does she know what you are?"

Bochra faced her. "You know she does not."

"Will you tell her, then?" S'vrian asked. "Or, do you intend to marry into all this first, hm?"

"I don't intend anything," Bochra said heatedly.

"Of course you do," S'vrian said. "You intend to have everything you've ever wanted: fortune, fame, love, glory, all of it. You believe you can have it all, and that you should have it all, because you are still young. You still think you are invincible."

"What did you want with me, S'vrian?"

"To tell you that you are, in a way, invincible," S'vrian said. "For now. You've somehow managed to bridge the gap between Tomalak and Taibak, unite them in their strange need to protect you. I cannot do a thing to you without breaking Tomalak's heart, and invoking Taibak's petty wrath."

"Taibak? How can he threaten you?"

"Do you know who that man's father is?"

Bochra had wondered the same thing since learning the half-Vulcan's story, and by now had asked around for answers. "Deletham, a retired hero of many campaigns, ending his career with the rank of Galae'Enriov. A respected and powerful man."

S'vrian smiled a bitter, secretive smile, shaking her head slowly. "A _**very **_powerful man, do you understand?"

Bochra forgot his rivalry with her for a moment. "You're saying he's Tal-"

"Shut your mouth!" snapped S'vrian, looking around anxiously. "I've said nothing, ssuej'd'ifv ["Do you understand"]?"

Bochra nodded. "But, if Taibak has the strength of his father behind him, then what happened with Ta'hrl-"

"That unpleasant incident is how I met Taibak," S'vrian said. "I have owed him a great debt since I convinced him to leave that affair a secret from his father. It is to repay that debt that I am going to leave you, and Tomalak, alone."

"Taibak called in that debt for my sake?"

"Yes." S'vrian's dark eyes flashed. "Apparently, having a boy like you to lie on his stomach for them is a valuable thing to Taibak and Tomalak."

Bochra twitched, but knew better than to fight the insult.

"I came to tell you that," S'vrian said. "But we are still enemies, and there will be repercussions from this disgusting affair. Whatever happens, whatever you do with Tomalak, I never want to hear from you or see you again, ryak'na [Romulan: "Trash"]."

Stiffly, Bochra agreed, "Ie, ihhei."

"_Ie, ihhei_," S'vrian repeated contemptuously. She took Bochra's face by the chin in her thin yet strong hands, squeezing it until her long nails dug into his skin. "So polite for a little whore."

She released him, and swept away. Bochra rubbed his face, glad to see her go. He should have been happy about her being forced to not interfere with his affair with Tomalak, but the visit had shaken him. He hurried back to the house, though he knew it would be a long while until he felt there was any place indoors or out that he could hide.

* * *

That night, Bochra could not sleep. He wished that he was at home, the quiet and empty House that would not have noticed Tomalak sneaking in and spending the night with him. Instead, he stayed up, with S'vrian's words cascading through his head, and a feeling of smallness in the large, foreign domicile.

When he could no longer stand it, Bochra got out of bed. He rifled through his bag of things until he found a heavy robe, and slung it on. It may not be polite to go searching for liquor in the middle of the night in a stranger's home, but he was too frustrated and anxious to care.

Bochra walked through the complex like a lost soul, unable to help studying its luxury. It was simply decorated, but the materials used and the general design of it told of its value. He found it a little hard to imagine Saeihr growing up in this austere place, so warm and small a girl as she was. Now he began to see why she worried about taking her place as this House's heir, the full weight of the burden she was born to bear. No siblings, only Saeihr to take up the mantle of this House of Jarok: a girl whose father was no longer there to protect her.

Upon finally finding the kitchens, Bochra saw that he had not been the only one seeking solitary comfort that night. Aidoann was standing before a counter with a bottle of aylihl. She looked up and saw him before he could slink back to his room.

"Gavik's son," Aidoann said, a little drunkenly. She waved a rather large hand. "Come here, boy, don't be shy."

Bochra tentatively came to the counter. Aidoann looked trimmer without her severe uniform-like clothing, more effeminate in a shoulder-less night robe. Now that he saw her more closely, Bochra saw a tiny bit of Saeihr's nose and cheekbones in her face.

"Have a drink," Aidoann said, pouring him one. "The Eitreih'ch'Rihan is tomorrow. You'll need it, ie?"

Bochra smiled, taking the glass gratefully. "Don't you enjoy the festival?"

"_**Dhat**_!" Aidoann said emphatically. She chuckled heartily. "My late husband, Jarok, he was the one who loved that sort of nonsense. Saeihr gets that from him, you know. Those two, they love a celebration."

Bochra kept his eyes firmly set on his glass. He wondered if the ghost of Alidar Jarok would ever be laid to rest, and doubted it.

"I'm never at rest with my feet on the ground," Aidoann said. She downed the contents of her glass and refilled it. "I live out there." She motioned the glass to the nearest window, the sky. "There's an honesty in space . . . it can't be replicated down here."

Bochra listened to her curiously.

"I met Jarok out there," Aidoann said. Her eyes were dry, but faraway, seeing better times. "He had that honesty of command, even back then, but more than honesty . . . he had sincerity. Right or wrong- Caelis-a u' Kholairlh-a [Romulan: "Powers and Elements" – Slightly religious exclamation, akin to the human expression "God protect us"]! Was he sincere!"

Bochra quickly gulped down another swallow of liquor.

"Not like your Riov," Aidoann scowled. "Tell me, son of Gavik, what happened out there?"

Bochra stiffened. "I was unconscious, ihhei. I witnessed nothing of it." He paused, then ventured, "Riov Tomalak did all he could to save Jarok, ihhei. Why would you think otherwise?"

"Because that kllhe [Romulan: "Worm" "Shit-eater"] always had it out for my deyhhan," Aidoann spat. "They've spent years in rivalry, ever since he served under Jarok during his Serona training. Then my husband dies, and only Tomalak is there to testify as to the events."

Aidoann pounded a fist on the table. "A navigation error! Fvadt! Jarok had been navigating the stars since long before Tomalak was authorized to give a single command on a ship! Lies!"

Bochra kept his face completely neutral.

"I just wish I had been there," the woman lamented. She was quiet for a long moment, before wiping a hand over her face and collecting herself. "So, you say you saw none of it, then, hero of Galorndon Core?"

"It was because of the injuries I sustained on Galorndon Core that I missed the incident," Bochra said carefully. "It was a very long recovery."

"I understand," Aidoann said. She studied Bochra's face. "Tell me, boy, were you scared? On the Core, that is?"

"Yes," Bochra said quietly. "I thought that I would die there on that cold, empty wasteland. I thought that the last I would ever see in life was darkness. It was . . . " He drew a breath and exhaled, trying to capture the indescribable with words. "It was finality without resolution. I was going to die without having lived. At least, that's what it felt like at the time."

_Come to think of it, that was when all this began, _Bochra thought. _That's been obvious from the start, but I haven't really thought about it. Galorndon Core destroyed me utterly. I haven't been the same since. Saeihr said I've grown up. I'm not sure about that, but I have changed- I have been permanently altered. It's made me go after life aggressively, desperately, even. I've been in such a rush to feel alive again._

"You take your existance for granted," Bochra went on, more to himself than to the woman. "When you're young, you don't think about your eventual demise. I never did, anyway, not seriously. Then Galorndon Core happened . . . I was just down there, just alone suddenly in space, so far from home . . . and I felt it, I felt my mortality. Nothing had ever been more tangible in my life. I was terrified."

Aidoann patted his shoulder heavily. "Don't sound so ashamed of that, Bochra. Never be ashamed of fearing death. Only fools do not fear death."

Bochra smiled weakly.

"As for your mortality, never forget that feeling," Aidoann advised. "It will keep you honest out there, tethered. I think, in the end . . . Jarok lost that. I don't know how or why, but . . . he did."

Bochra wished he could give her some comfort, but there was nothing to be said. They drank in silence together for a bit. When Bochra bid her goodnight, the woman was too immersed in her thoughts to take much notice. She waved him goodnight, and stayed alone in the kitchen with the bottle of drink. Bochra trudged back upstairs to bed, more depressed than when he had come down sober.

2

The day of the Eitreih'ch'Rihan dawned warm and bright. The sun had triumphed over the incoming storm, after all, and the festivities began under a proud, bright sun. Everyone went through the same ritual that morning: a thorough bath, a change into new, festive outfits, and as large a breakfast as their respective Houses could afford. Then, everyone took to the streets for the public party, which included everything from small theatrical shows to games to food sampling, all day long. When the middle of the day came, there would be a parade.

Bochra did not have a moment to think, so swept up in all the celebrating was he. Saeihr dragged him along by the hand through the streets, and for the last time, though neither knew it, they were two kids again.

At some point the previous day, Gavik had summoned back Rhioa, and they had made their peace. As he wheeled himself after the youths, Rhioa walked at his side, a hand on his shoulder. Aidoann followed along placidly, bearing her deep pain with the grace and dignity of a warrior. In her mind, still a bit hazed from her late-night drinking, she imagined that her husband's spirit walked with her.

Tomalak and S'vrian went through the charade of being a happy couple, for appearance's sake. However, even their mood was lifted when they got a surprise that morning: their son, Narak, had gotten in that morning, having hurried to make it to the festival. Whatever their feud, Tomalak and S'vrian were both parents, and they put their troubles aside to dote upon their only child.

The three families (that of Gavik, that of Jarok, and that of Tomalak), all crossed paths near the midday. For once, the complications of their tangled lives were largely irrelevant, and they were able to meet and greet and chat without issue.

Not all was so perfect in the capitol, however. Taibak found himself wandering on the outskirts of society. He had come out only to see his father Deletham, but their reunion was cut short by Deletham's biological son, Ta'hrl, sulking at Taibak's appearance. Even the grand Eitreih'ch'Rihan festival could not bridge all gaps, apparently.

Taibak found an unoccupied bar and sat himself in a lonely corner of it. He was not much of a drinker, but having nothing else to do today, he kept company with a bottle.

The bartender was in bad spirits to be tending his place during the festival. At one point, he half-jokingly asked the few scattered patrons, "How can you be in here during the Eitreih'ch'Rihan? Have you no Romulan pride?"

A female voice replied, "I don't think our pride is very much appreciated today."

Another voice, male, said, "Speak for yourself, half-breed!"

The ensuing scuffling made Taibak look up from his drink. The half-human, half-Romulan hybrid, shockingly blond and pale Sela, had settled the insult with the man. She shoved him out of the bar and returned to the counter.

"Can I get another bottle of pride, then?" she asked the bartender.

The man served her, not daring to speak another word. Sela ambled through the bar, noticing Taibak. She leaned on his table.

"What do you think?" she asked, breath heavily scented by ayhhil. "This make me proud enough?"

"I wouldn't know," Taibak said calmly.

Sela frowned, sinking into the chair opposite him. "You're that doctor. Taibak, right?" She laughed. "Yes, if rumors are true, you wouldn't know, would you?"

Taibak blinked. "Rumors? Whose rumors?"

"Not a friend's rumors."

_S'vrian, _Taibak thought. _I should have known she would find some way to get back at me. Not that rumors can outrightly harm me, but they will be detrimental to my plans. _

"And what do these rumors say, Sela?"

"That you're like me." Sela smiled broadly. "Well, not exactly like me. You know what they say."

"That I am half-Vulcan."

Sela lowered her voice to a whisper, leaning over the table. "Are they true?"

"I am here today."

Sela laughed. "Ah, I knew it!"

"You should not be so happy," Taibak said quietly. "The city is going to the mutts like us."

Sela grinned, and even Taibak cracked a smile. He had never opened up about his race so easily, without any shame; he certainly never would have imagined being able to joke about it. Even speaking to the open-minded Bochra had felt compromising. He found it refreshing to talk about it with another half-breed.

"We just have no need to celebrate," Sela said. "Every day is the Eitreih'ch'Rihan for us! We have to prove our pride and celebrate the better half of our heritage every single day. We have to show them!"

"And how will you show them?"

"By taking down my mother's Starfleet," Sela said seriously. "And you?"

"I hope to utilize my mother's logic to help the Galae."

"Really?"

Taibak nodded, thinking of his VISOR project and his need for support. "I think, we might be able to reconcile those objectives."

"Don't you serve Riov Tomalak?"

"I've already put in for a transfer from his ship," Taibak explained. "I should have done so . . . long ago. If you have room on your ship for a medic or science officer, I have something I would like to show you."

Sela smiled, nodding. "I always have room for an ambitious officer. What is this way we might combine our goals, Taibak?"

"Well, you see, I came into some knowledge of a Starfleet officer in the aftermath of Galorndon Core . . . "

* * *

The Houses of Gavik, Jarok, and Tomalak were still together by the time of the parade. Before it commenced, however, S'vrian began to pull her husband away. Bochra moved closer to them to hear what was going on.

"What do you mean, we're joining the parade?" Tomalak was asking. "Why?"

"It's done."

"What is done?" Tomalak took her by the shoulders lightly. "S'vrian, what is done?"

S'vrian pointed across the crowd to a large hover board that was being decorated to float through the street. There was a large team of people, many of them barely-disguised security, even out of uniform. In the center of them, a handsome, sharply-dressed man caught S'vrian's point, smiled over at her, and waved.

"Is that Neral?" Tomalak inquired of his wife. "Why is he-"

"Tonight, Neral is going to announce that he is running for proconsul," S'vrian told Tomalak, waving back to the man. She turned back to Tomalak, looking up at him coolly. "He's young, inoffensively modern, you like him, don't you?"

"Yes, but-"

"We will be lending him our support in his race," S'vrian said.

Realization dawned on Tomalak's face. "I see. And while we support Senator Neral, there will be no possible way for me to throw my hand into the race for the open Senate seat. If you wanted me to give up politics, you should have simply told me, S'vrian. If you wanted to punish me, you could have at least done so to my face."

"I'm not punishing you," S'vrian said. "I'm protecting you. The scrutiny society places on politicians is painstaking, and the scrutiny the Tal Shiar places on them is all the more intense. Can you bear that kind of attention when you have a bond with that boy?"

They had lowered their voices to whispers, and Bochra strained to make the words out.

"Besides, you've always been, first and foremost, a soldier," S'vrian went on. "Go chase your dreams of battle glory and military prestige, Tomalak. We'll leave the politics to the politicians."

Tomalak did not look happy, but he did not look entirely heartbroken, either.

"Neral opposes the D'Sora Ceremony, just as you do," S'vrian said. "He's modern."

"Is that why the Tal Shiar-" Tomalak gripped her wrist tightly, hissing into her ear. "-is having their best agent investigate him?"

S'vrian smiled beautifully, but there was a shark-like quality to the baring of her perfect white teeth. "The Tal Shiar only surely want to be certain that Neral is not _too _modern."

Tomalak smiled in amusement. "I see. So, you've found a new diversion, after all."

"I suppose we'll both be busy during your next deployment."

They left the crowd for Neral's float, and Bochra watched them go. He was dismayed by the quick exchange of insinuations and subterfuge, but was grateful that S'vrian's poisonous attention would be focused elsewhere. He looked across the crowd at Neral, wondering if the politician would be able to hold his own against the Tal Shiar spy. If he could pull that feat off, Bochra noted, the man would make Praetor one day.

Bochra returned to his family. To his surprise, Tomalak's son, Narak, was in conversation with Saeihr. He stood by them idly, though he listened to their words.

"No, I haven't!" Saeihr shouted to Narak over the noise of the crowd and music. She craned her neck down the street as the first of the flying floats approached.

Bochra took the moment to look at Narak. They had been distant friends growing up, the distance caused only by Narak's half a generation of age over Bochra. Bochra remembered being quite jealous of him at one point: Narak had his family's prestige, his father's tall height, and his mother's lovely, striking features. He was a serious soldier, already ranking as Riov of his own Warbird, and known for his cunning tactics on the field. None of this had changed, Bochra noted as he studied him, except for age hardening the man's straight, handsome features into their prime attractiveness. Bochra felt a stab of the old jealousy.

"It's an honor to be able to choose which ship to serve on," Narak told Saeihr. His voice was much deeper than Bochra remembered. "You should put in your choice!"

Saeihr shook her head. "I don't even know if I care! I don't know if I'm going to be a soldier after Serona!"

"You'll be a soldier!" Narak smiled down at her. "Your parents! You were bred for it!"

Saeihr smiled, as it was a compliment, but the remark troubled her. Narak put a hand on her shoulder then, annoying Bochra to no end.

"My ship will be the best in the fleet!" Narak told her, still shouting over the parade noise. "You could not make a better choice!"

Saeihr grinned mischievously. "Even over your father's, Narak?"

"My father's an old man!" laughed Narak. "I'm young, and you're younger yet! Let's leave the old ones behind, yes? The stars are for the future!"

Saeihr laughed, shaking her head. The floats were near, and she and Narak stopped conversing to throw up the flags in their hands and cheer. Bochra shrank back into the anonymity of the crowd. He caught a glimpse of his father and Rhioa apart from the front of the crowd, and she leaning down to kiss his cheek. Gavik smiled, and Bochra actually stopped to stare. He had not seen his father smile in many long, dreary years.

Bochra ducked into the nearest building, warm and claustrophobic from the crowd. It was a bar, and so he decided to have a drink. The bartender sighed as he approached.

"Does _no one _have any pride anymore?"

Behind him, a female voice called, "We drink our pride on Romulus!"

A familiar chuckle made Bochra turn around. For a moment, he was not certain what he was seeing. Was that really Taibak, drunk, with an arm slung around the shoulders of the half-human Sela? Bochra changed his drink order to a double, and then took it over to their table.

"Oh, you can't sit here- Can he sit here, Taibak?" Sela laughed. "Are you a half-breed?"

"N-no."

"Then you can't sit here," Sela said. "We're only half-proud today, you see? Go out there and be fully proud."

Taibak removed his arm from the woman's shoulders, sobering slightly. "Bochra is a . . . shipmate of mine. Would you give us a moment?"

Sela knocked back the last of her drink and stood. "I have business, anyway. I was only avoiding it." She clapped a hand against Taibak's shoulder. "I'll see you when we ship out! Jolan'tru!"

"Jolan'tru, Sela."

Both men waited until she was out of the bar completely.

"When you ship out?" Bochra asked then. "What did she mean?"

"I had been meaning to tell you before," Taibak told him. He reached over the table and put a hand on Bochra's. "I came to serve on Tomalak's ship for revenge for what he did to Ta'hrl. I should never have wasted so many years biding my time, wasting my time, on such an illogical and pointless goal. I am a scientist, and a very good one. My talents have been squandered while I served as HS for Tomalak."

"You've been a great HS," Bochra said adamantly. "You saved my life, after Galorndon Core."

"Any HS worth his post would have done the same," Taibak pointed out. "Besides, my opportunity for revenge came. It came, and it passed me by."

Bochra swallowed. "You mean, finding out about me and Tomalak."

"Yes, but not only that." Taibak paused, looking into his drink, and then met the youth's eyes again. "I know that Tomalak had you sign a falsified report of the Galorndon Core Incident. I know that he covered up the truth about Jarok under your advice. I know of his affair with you, Ta'hrl, all of it. I've been sitting on the revenge I claimed to seek all these years, never able to go through with it. I realize now that I never truly wanted to go through with it."

"No?"

Taibak shook his head. "Revenge is illogical. I have all this information, and if I set it all loose, then what? S'vrian and Tomalak cannot touch me, but we all know what society thinks of whistleblowers. And a half-Vulcan one? I would be safe and protected, but I would be hated. I may not be liked, but I do not wish to be hated. I would never get anywhere in my career."

"So, what _will_ you do?"

Taibak sipped his drink. "What I have been doing all along," he said simply. "The information I have is very valuable, Bochra. It can open as many doors as it can shut. S'vrian, Tomalak, even you- three people I have power over. It would be foolish not to use that power to advance myself."

Bochra sat up straight, searching the man's apathetic brown eyes. "As practical as ever."

"It is the only way I can be. Why fight it?"

Bochra nodded, though he did not fully agree. He had seen a glimpse of Romulan passion in Taibak. He knew the emotions were there. He wondered if Taibak was stifling them not by choice, but out of fear, this time. Guilt's familiar clutches gripped the youth, but he did not argue. They all made their choices and mistakes, and he had messed up enough lives by trying to change that plain fact.

"Sela has agreed to sponsor my VISOR project," Taibak said. "If we are successful, we should be able to deal a nice blow to Starfleet. Even if we fail . . . I should like to serve under another half-breed. It will be a welcome change to serving under Tomalak."

Bochra reached over the table and put a hand on Taibak's shoulder. He squeezed, trying to discern any feeling from the man. He thought he saw a flicker of something in his eyes, hurt or betrayal, something.

"I wish you all the luck you deserve, Taibak," Bochra said earnestly. "I will always be in your debt."

"You may come to rue that one day."

"It will be no less than I deserve."

Taibak's thin lips twitched almost into a smile. "Punishments are not always going to be so trite for you, you know. One day, you'll earn yourself a lot more than a spanking."

Bochra blushed faintly.

"Until then, enjoy the last of childhood," Taibak told him. He stood, and Bochra also got to his feet. He looked the strange young man over for the last time, most likely, in a while. "I wish you luck, too- more luck than you deserve, since you don't really deserve much, honestly."

He put his hands on Bochra's shoulders, brought him close briefly, almost a hug. "Jolan'tru, Bochra."

He swept away. Bochra called after him weakly, "Jolan'tru."

Bochra no longer felt like drinking, and left the bar after paying. Outside, the parade was in full force. He glanced up at the sky, and saw that the sun's brave battle was nearly at an end. Thick, heavy gray clouds were rolling in from the direction of the sea, threatening to burst at any moment. The breeze was chilled, though everyone was too excited to notice just yet.

Bochra put his hands in his pockets, cutting through the crowd on his way back to his family. He was distinctly grateful that they would be deploying soon, far beyond the reach of any terrestrial storm.

3

Nightfall brought the rain at last. Low-efficiency shields encapsulated the outdoor parties that had been set up, blocking off the rain. Tomalak and S'vrian had had the foresight to find an alternative to the firework display, and the canopy of the shield around their gardens simulated the light show with energy bursts.

Since Bochra's House was hosting no party, and Saeihr was not yet an adult host of her House's party, they were free to visit other homes that night. After they stopped at her home to change into evening outfits, they took to the city streets. They swept through a few different homes, and ended up, against Bochra's better judgment, at Tomalak's.

"Wow!" Saeihr exclaimed as they came out of the main building into the shielded gardens. She pointed up at the faux-firework display sparkling over the top of the invisible shield. "I wish we had thought of something like that!"

She stopped, staring up, and Bochra had to smile as he led her out of the entrance doorway. He had to admit, the spectacle was something to behold. Glancing around, he noticed that so was the crowd. Tomalak was entertaining the highest echelon of Romulan society: the most important, beautiful, and the best-dressed. He had forgotten how the city looked with its guard down, how soft and lovely the women were outside of the usual severe fashions, how vibrant the men looked with some color in their garb. Though he had been eager to leave the homeworld all this time, now he felt a twist of homesickness to stay.

Saeihr had suddenly grabbed him by the hand. Her eyes sparkled like two soft brown stones, outlined with black cosmetic, and her hair tumbled down around her girlish face like a curtain. She looked very small and thin, as most of the women did, with the shoulder-baring party gown she wore instead of the usual outfits that padded and framed the shoulders so harshly. _Just a girl, _Bochra thought affectionately. _She is still, only a girl._

"What are you doing, Saeihr?" Bochra asked as she brought him onto the stone-tiled pavillion in the center of that area. She was moving his arms and hands, trying to position him.

Saeihr looked around at the couples surrounding them. "Do you remember when we danced together at that festival?" she asked, putting his hand on her hip. "It wasn't in such a nice House as this, but there were _real _fireworks."

"I was barely ten!" Bochra exclaimed. "And you could not have been more than six or seven. How can you remember that?"

Saeihr smiled, a little shy. "I remember."

Bochra took hold of her fully, and without reserve. It had been far too long since he had danced, but the movements were not too difficult, so long as the man maintained a strong, straight posture. Saeihr beamed up at him, flowing into the dance as he awkwardly started to move her.

Bochra swallowed hard as he danced with the girl. It felt so natural and beautiful that he wished he could stay in this moment forever. There were no secrets in this moment, and no one would look twice at them with anything other than admiration. As he swept her around in a circle and her hair swung behind her in a cold breeze, he imagined the white and blue wedding ribbons interlaced in her black locks, the twisting ink designs of the ceremony delicately drawn across her shoulders and down her hands, and her body draped in the gauzy ceremonial dress.

A beautiful marriage . . . but no life bond.

Bochra brought her close to him, so his face was above her shoulder, and she could not see the tears in his eyes. If only it could have been like this. It _could _be like this, if he only conceeded that his normal life would always be half a lie. He wondered how Tomalak had felt, bringing a young, not yet embittered S'vrian to the altar, wedding a woman he could never truly love.

"Excuse me."

Saeihr frowned as Bochra broke from her. "What's the matter?"

Bochra forced a laugh. "I've been drinking and eating the entire day. I'll be right back."

Saeihr looked at him, for the first time really looked at him, through him, and alarm lit her eyes. Unable to continue lying to her, Bochra smiled, and hurried away. Saeihr stood in the middle of the twirling couples, confused, and behind her, S'vrian turned her way.

It took some doing, but Bochra finally found an empty place: the training building he had found Tomalak in barely two weeks ago practicing his martial arts. This area of the property was not shielded or decorated for festivities, and Bochra stepped through the low-charge barrier into the rain. He ran until he was inside the building, where he stopped short. Feeling the memories that were so much more perverse than what he had with Saeihr, yet so much more meaningful, the youth lost himself. He leaned his back against the wall and sank to the floor, chest heaving with the force of not breaking down.

Footsteps were evident, but Bochra was too weak to even stand. He sat helpless, looking up to see who had discovered his weakness. To his relief, it was Tomalak. The man smiled understandingly, and sat beside his young lover. Neither spoke for a while.

"The energy bursts as fireworks was a great idea," Bochra finally said, sniffling, wiping the unfallen tears out of his eyes. "They're beautiful."

"The illusion is nice, but they aren't the same as the real ones."

"No, I suppose not."

Tomalak turned to look at Bochra. "We're deploying tomorrow afternoon."

Bochra nodded, swallowing. "Good. That's . . . That's good."

Tomalak stood, helping Bochra up by the hand. He brushed himself and the youth off, and looked at him intently. Bochra held his gaze steadily, wondering.

"Why is it good?" Tomalak asked. "Because it gives you a chance to run away?"

Bochra considered. "No," he said after a pause. "No, it's good because . . . it's home."

Tomalak smiled, touching the young man's face. It was bittersweet to see how much Bochra had changed over the past month, to have watched the blind devotion and patriotism fade from those eyes, to have been the one to beat reality into him, in more ways than one. It was inevitable, for all of them, but it was never easy to watch.

_Have I done wrong? _Tomalak wondered. _Destroyed him, as my lies and deception destroyed myself and S'vrian? Love is . . . a force of nature, like this storm . . . we tell ourselves this, blame our passion . . . Are our excuses enough, or are they a sympton of irresponsibility? _

_Or are they only a sympton of life in this universe?_

Tomalak bent down and kissed Bochra tenderly, almost a chaste kiss. Without exchanging words, each knew what the other was thinking: one more night, and then they would be back home among the stars.

Just get through tonight.

Neither saw the two figures just several yards from the training building. They could not have known they were silhouetted in the doorway of the entrance so perfectly, so unmistakably. Saeihr inhaled a quick, choking breath in the rain-swept courtyard, and S'vrian gripped her shoulder bracingly.

"Why would you do this?" Saeihr asked, staring out at the two men. She hit S'vrian's hand off and faced her. "Why?"

S'vrian was neither smug nor content. She grimly looked down at the girl. "Am I the one you want to ask that question of?"

Saeihr shook her head, frowning. "I . . . " She looked back at Bochra and Tomalak, unable to find a way to excuse the tableau. "I don't understand."

"It isn't for you to understand, dalwhin [Romulan: "Little bird"]," S'vrian said gently. She wiped the droplets of water gathering at the hem of the girl's bangs. "Not yet, not so young. But you had to know, ssuej'd'ifv?"

"No!" Saeihr exclaimed. "No, I don't, I don't understand! I don't . . . I . . . "

"Dalwhin-"

"Don't call me that!" Saeihr screamed. "Don't touch me! Stay away from me!"

The girl rushed off, just as Tomalak and Bochra came up to S'vrian. They all watched her depart through the rain. Bochra's heart felt as if it had stopped, and he was faint. Tomalak and S'vrian glared at one another wordlessly.

Bochra moved forward. "I have to-"

Tomalak stopped him with a hand on his arm. "Don't."

Bochra turned around angrily. "But I can't just let her go! She had nothing-" He looked at S'vrian, and his voice raised. "She had _**nothing **_to do with this!"

"I know," S'vrian said emotionlessly. "And that is why I set her free."

Bochra went to leave again. "I have to tell her- I have to explain-"

Tomalak pulled him back, into his arms. "What could you say?"

S'vrian's face twitched with repulsion and hurt as she saw them so close. She pulled the hood of her cloak over her head, and silently vanished into the night. Tomalak felt as compelled to go after her, as Bochra was to follow Saeihr. Neither action would do any good, and so he held Bochra until he stopped fighting him.

"What can any of us say?" Tomalak said softly.

Bochra shook his head, unable to speak. The rain soaked through their clothing, ruining their festival outfits, as just yards away, the party beneath the shields danced and laughed the rest of the night away beneath the artificial fireworks.

* * *

"They're all _**so **_happy."

Taibak and Sela ended up on the roof of his building, looking out over the capitol and all its myriad bright spots of parties. They sat leaning against one another on the floor of it, watching the world that was only half their heritage celebrate. The rain spattered down on them, but they were cloaked and hooded.

"Not all of them," Taibak told her.

"But they're all complete," Sela said softly. "That can be better than happiness, anyway."

Taibak looked at her curiously. "Why desire what you can never have, Sela?"

"I don't."

"Then, what do you want?"

"To show them something," Sela told him. She sat up, away from the shoulder she had been leaning against, and stretched her arms. "I don't know." She stood, removing her hood, and her blond hair was matted to her head by the rain. "To say to them, I am not one of you and I never will be . . . but look what I've done!" She shouted out at the unlistening city. "You can't deny what I've done for you!"

Taibak got to his feet, rubbing his head; the day of binging had finally caught up with him. He went to her side, and looked out with her.

"What I've done . . . for you."

Sela shut her eyes, lifting her face. Her tears were indistinguishable from the rain. She smiled, unable to do anything else with her misery. Taibak hesitated, and then put a hand on her shoulder.

"They won't ever care what we do for them."

"I know." Sela's light eyes opened and fixed on the man. "I know that, Taibak. But I still want to be able to say it. Someday."

Sela laughed, taking him by the hand and leading him to the edge of the roof. "And don't tell me you wouldn't like to be able to say the same thing, Vulcan!" She climbed onto the ledge, pulling him up with her. "I know you would never say it aloud. I know you're too logical to want to say anything unnecessary. But I still know that you would love to say it to yourself."

Taibak let his arms encircle her waist. She was alien and strange, but he had begun to realize throughout the day that she had a kind of exotic beauty. Now that he had felt closeness and intimacy, with Bochra, he found it more difficult to let go of than he ever would have imagined.

Sela met his eyes, and finally saw the feelings there. She frowned, confused, her mind racing too fast to grasp a coherent thought. She had spent her life defending herself from hate-driven sexual assaults and antagonization, or playing fast and loose with the curious to advance her standing in society. None of it had ever been real, it had never had to be; the way she saw it, sex was a weapon to be used or guarded.

Yet . . .

Their lips met, and Sela pulled him into a ferocious kiss. She wanted to believe she could trust him, if only for the reason that he was as outcast as she was. She felt a little bit hypocritical, as she had been curious to know what kissing a Vulcan might be like. To her pleasant surprise, his kiss was more emotion than logic.

"There are other things I would love," Taibak told her in the brief moment they were apart. He brushed her hair from her face, noting her smooth forehead, the roots of her eerily colorless hair.

Sela looked shocked, but she quickly hid the emotion. She laughed, put a hand on his chest. "Let's not get ahead of ourselves, Vulcan."

Taibak shrugged. "I can live with that, human."

They grinned, and melded into the darkness of the night, entangled in one another's arms.

* * *

"Why now, Rhioa?"

The two had slipped home from Jarok's former House before the night ended. Rhioa had manually guided Gavik's mobility chair through their empty little domicile, until they were in the altar room where Gavik had come so close to taking his own life.

Rhioa had a private, womanly smile on her lips. She walked to the altar, and sat down before it, looking up at Gavik.

"We have kept each other's company through all these long, long years," Gavik continued. He pressed a button, and the front of his chair lifted from his lap. With effort, he brought himself down to the floor to sit beside her. "Why are you so worried about me lately, hm?"

"It is not you that I am so worried about, Gavik."

"No?"

Rhioa put a hand to his face. "I need you to answer me once and for all. Do you want to live? Really live, not only exist?"

"Bochra and Tomalak accousted me with the same question today," Gavik said with a tired smile. He held her hand. "Yes, Rhioa. I have decided that I do. If not entirely for my sake, for yours, Bochra's, even Tomalak's."

"And one other's."

Gavik snorted a bewildered laugh. "Whose?"

Rhioa lowered their hands to her chest, then down to her stomach, then a little further downwards. Gavik's eyes went wide, and he looked nearly as boyish as his son.

"Really?"

Rhioa smiled. "Ie."

Gavik laughed, his eyes moist with tears. "Impossible!" he exclaimed, even as he took the woman into his arms. "Impossible! Are you sure?"

Rhioa nodded, crying despite herself. "Ie."

"No wonder you wanted to know what I wanted of the future," Gavik marveled. "Why not simply tell me? How could you keep this from me!"

"Because I would not force such a burden on you, if you did not want it, hru'Hfirh."

"Do not call me that!" Gavik said, scandalized. He took Rhioa's hands in his own. "You will be my ailhun, and I your deyhhan, from now until the ceremony, and forever on."

The two- three- of the newly restored family embraced. Gavik had never thought he would be grateful to Tomalak for stopping his suicide, but tonight he was. Tonight, he could not imagine having ever wanted to die.

4

The storm hurled through the night, battering the indifferent city, and then subsided by dawn. In the early hours, the maintenance crews dragged themselves out of bed, bleary-eyed, and went about getting the city back on its feet. The streets were cleaned, ships were started, checked, and refueled, and the civilization began to spin its wheels once more. The more fortunate elite and military classes slept through the rejuvination.

Bochra delayed getting out of bed for as long as possible. He lay in bed for hours, trying to convince himself that the surreal festival day and night had been nothing more than a dream. The only thing that finally moved him out of bed was the promise of deployment that night.

Downstairs, Gavik and Rhioa were having a late breakfast themselves. Bochra was going to pass them by, but something different about the scene stayed him. He came back into the dining room, surprised that Rhioa, instead of serving, was seated at the meal in the chair of the House matriarch.

"Bochra, join us!" Gavik beckoned him in. "Sit down, son, sit down!"

Bochra tentatively took a plate of food and joined the table. Given the looks on their faces, they could not have anything less than good news, and he desperately needed good news today.

Gavik wasted no time in announcing, "Rhioa and I are to be married!"

The chill around Bochra's heart warmed, and he stood up to hug and congratulate them both. The mirth was loud in the empty house, and much talking ensued. Bochra had just sat down to drink his fruit juice when Gavik made his second announcement:

"And we are with child!"

Bochra choked on the beverage, literally choked. He shakily set the glass down, coughing until he could croak, "What?"

Rhioa blushed lightly. The timing of the pregnancy made it more than obvious that she and the master of the House had been carrying on a physical relationship since before the issue of marriage had ever come up.

Bochra managed to collect himself enough to congratulate them. Internally, he was reeling, but he spoke a lot to the two without saying anything. He had seen their union coming for years, but this news was beyond anything he could have imagined. Truthfully, he had not even considered that it was physically possible.

"But don't worry," Gavik said. He was holding Rhioa's hand on the top of the table. "It's early yet. We will not hold the ceremony until you are back on Romulus."

Bochra stared at the two of them, forced a frozen smile. "I will . . . be looking forward to it." He got to his feet with a burst of energy, and rushed to the cabinets. "For now, let's have a drink together!"

"Really, in the morning?" Rhioa said with false disapproval.

Bochra's hands were shaking, but he managed to pour them each a glass. They toasted the good news, and drank. He was the only one that had a second glass. Afterward, he hugged each of them, and excused himself from the House.

In the courtyard, the young man walked backwards, surveying the humble estate. One baby, and he knew the entire home would change: more servants would have to be hired, least of all one to take Rhioa's place, and the grounds would be revitalized. He could not remember the last time the House felt alive, as he had been very young when Gavik was injured and his mother had left him. So much as he had always hated the quiet, empty home, the prospect of that change daunted him.

_If it is a girl, my responsibility to this House will be severed, _he suddenly thought. A smile played upon his lips, and it broadened into a grin. A daughter would mean that the House would be left to her command. His role would be to protect her-

_As I could not protect Saeihr._

The thought sobered him, and he turned his back on his House. The look on the girl's face last night haunted him. He wished to see her, but he knew there were no words he could give her now. It was done, and it was done.

Bochra spent the morning buying small things he would need for deployment, and a few extra treats for the beginning of the ride out into space. When there was nothing left to buy, he dropped the things off at home. Rhioa and Gavik were deep in discussion, no doubt about the next generation growing inside the woman, and how it would affect the household. Bochra watched them unseen for a short time, and then headed back out.

Afternoon found him at Tomalak's estate. He managed to gain entrance, but instead of trying to find the Riov, he sought out his wife. S'vrian was in her studio, spinning raw material into some form of art. She looked lonely for the first time, absorbed in a hobby free of Tal Shiar lies, and emotional pain.

Without ever appearing to notice him, S'vrian said, "I would not have expected to see you here again." With a tightening of her mouth, she added, "I don't know where Tomalak is."

"I came to see you."

S'vrian's dark eyes flashed to him. The clay spun beneath her hands, which fell from it gradually. The pedestal twirled, stopped. She wiped her hands together, then on her artisan cloak.

"If you are here to attack me with insults and whining, don't," she said. "You and I will never be friends, but nothing I have done has been out of revenge."

"I know that."

S'vrian looked surprised, doubtful. "Do you?"

"You did it for Saeihr," Bochra told her. He walked further into the room, though he maintained a bit of distance from the intimidating woman. "To keep her from being trapped in the loveless life that you and Tomalak chained yourselves to. Because you thought she deserved better."

"She does deserve better," S'vrian said. "But do not think my reasons were wholly selfless."

"Regardless," Bochra said, "you made the choice for both of us-"

"_You _made that choice," S'vrian interrupted. "I only made her realize that you had."

"Which was the one thing I was too weak to do," Bochra went on. "I'm not sure I ever would have. I'm . . . grateful to you, S'vrian."

S'vrian could not hide her discomfort at the gratitude. She stood uncertainly, as he bowed his head.

"Hann'yyo rhissiuy [Romulan: "Thank you very much" between equals (S'vrian has no official military ranking)]."

S'vrian waved a hand. "Never mind, boy." She turned back to her sculpting platform and pressed her foot to the button that made it rotate. "Is that all?"

"Yes."

"Then, please understand that I never want to see you in my house again."

Bochra nodded. "Jolan'tru."

S'vrian glanced at him, but said nothing. Bochra hurried out.

"Stupid child."

"He isn't so stupid."

S'vrian sighed, glancing at the other side of the room. "How long have you been there, Tomalak?"

Her husband stepped from the hallway into the studio. "Long enough." He watched S'vrian. "Was he right?"

Lazily, S'vrian asked, "About?"

"Did you do it for that girl's sake?" Tomalak asked. He came up beside her, looking at the scultpure taking form beneath her lithe hands. "You did, didn't you?"

"Not every child should end up trapped in their own bitterness like us, deyhhan," S'vrian replied. She pushed a stray lock of hair away from her face, pausing in her sculpting. She turned to look up at him, asked, more out of curiosity than emotion, "How did we come to this, Tomalak?"

"We made two very significant mistakes, S'vrian, and we made them together," Tomalak said. "We married under a pretense, and then we grew so lonely in our middle age, that we started to convince ourselves of that lie."

"You mean, by our jealousy?" S'vrian humphed a bitter laugh. "You started that game, deyhhan."

"I know, and I never should have," Tomalak said. "I, protesting the lengths you were made to go to for the sake of the Tal Shiar. You, becoming jealous over my affairs. We've both come too close to being discovered, several times."

"And now, you've started to form a real life bond."

"Yes."

"Why did we do it?" S'vrian sighed. She went back to her sculpture, frowning. "For ambition's sake? Was that all we threw our lives away for?"

"It was never really about that," Tomalak said. He leaned on the wall, arms crossed. "We were doing what all ambitious people do: we were running from anything that might deter us. We did not enter into a false union to better our lives, S'vrian. We did it to run from what we feared most."

"The powerlessness of real love," S'vrian murmured. "We were cowards."

"Yes, we were."

"All bets are off," S'vrian said. "We remain together in name only, for our House, our future. The rest is entirely separate. Ssuej'd'ifv?"

"You made it quite clear with Neral last night."

S'vrian smiled, nodding. It was as close to an agreement as they could come at this point: a cease-fire.

* * *

The day had begun late for all who could afford to spend the time sleeping off the festival's hangover, and it ended before long. The docking bay was full that evening, soldiers all rushing to make their deployment. The Warbirds lay in wait, ominously still and lifelike in their green silhouettes. The sky was dashed blood red by the sunset, and the city that had been so colorful the previous day faded into its usual, comfortably severe palette.

Bochra shifted his bag on his shoulder. Gavik and Rhioa had already told him their goodbyes, and the future lay somewhere out for him in space. It would be his first voyage as khre'Arrain, as his promotion had been awarded on-planet.

Beside Tomalak's ship was his son Narak's. Bochra only glanced at the crowd waiting to board it for a moment, before having to look again. He broke from his own ship's crew, and went up to the short fencing around the waiting area for Narak's vessel.

"Saeihr?"

The girl was unrecognizable in her uniform. At first, Bochra thought she had pinned her hair up, but as she turned to him, he saw this was not the case. The cascading black mane had been cut off entirely, cropped into the usual military style, cap-like. It gave her soft face a few more angles, sharpened her to the point of harshness. She looked up at Bochra without expression.

"You cut your hair," Bochra said stupidly.

"Ie." Saeihr touched the back of it briefly. "I will be a soldier soon, after all."

"You've decided to serve the Galae, then?" Bochra asked. "On Narak's ship?"

"I told the Galae that I did not care what ship I was sent to," Saeihr said dully. "I ended up here."

Bochra had the feeling the placing was S'vrian's duty. No wonder that she had said her intentions were not wholly selfless. He felt again that ugly jealousy of Narak, who was normal and more of a match for Saeihr than he could ever be.

"Saeihr-"

"Don't." Saeihr's large, round eyes looked up directly into his. The hardness fell away, though not the pain, and she contemplated him for a long moment. She repeated, then, "Don't."

She turned her back to him. Bochra reached over the boundary to her, his hand grazing her shoulder. "Saeihr, wait!"

Saeihr stopped, turned to him wearily. "What do you want from me, Bochra?"

"I only . . . I want to wish you luck." He nodded at the ship, the sky. "Out there."

Saeihr smiled weakly, shaking her head. Finally, she reached into her bag and removed a small, round black disc. She came back to him. "I want you to have this."

Bochra took it; it was a holographic video storage unit. He went to press the 'play' button, but her delicate hand touched upon his, stopping him.

"Don't play it here," Saeihr said. "I can't see it anymore."

"I'm so-"

"Don't apologize." Saeihr lifted her face, and she looked as resigned and bittersweet as her father had in his last moments. "Soldiers never apologize."

Bochra took her hand, drew her as close as the fence would allow. Their fingers linked, he knew for the last time. Saeihr's smile widened, though her eyes moistened with tears. As they stood amidst the rushing throngs, the promise of what had never been, would never be, struck them both.

Bochra told her softly, "That doesn't mean soldiers have no regrets."

"You don't regret anything," Saeihr said, a hint of bitterness creeping into her voice. It made her sound older, gave her girlish tone a womanly quality. "You just don't like dealing with the fallout. You've always been that way."

"Saeihr-"

"Don't pity me to make yourself feel better." Saeihr removed her hand from his. "Bochra, I hope you are happy, but if you are . . . I don't want to see it. Ssuej'd'ifv?"

Bochra hated to admit it, but he was grateful for the closure. He respected the girl enough not to subject her to any more lies or consolations. He nodded shortly. "Ie."

Saeihr nodded. "Hann'yyo [Romulan: "Thank you" between equals]."

With that, the girl turned, shouldered her bag, and joined the line waiting to board. Bochra watched her go, and then went his own way.

5

Bochra sat in his room aboard the ship. It was a private room, as opposed to the bunk room he had shared with a handful of other Arrain-class soldiers before his promotion to khre'Arrain. There was a bed, a desk, a communication screen, and even a small, round window. It was plain, as all Romulan bed quarters were on their ships, but comfortable and private.

Bochra threw his bag aside, and sat at the desk. He put the holographic video unit on the desk and pressed the button. His senses were alarmed by the commotion of the footage, and he was about to lower its playback volume before a voice cut through the noise. The three-dimensional image blurred until it focused on a stage, where a little girl was singing. The sound focused, as well, fading the background chatter and allowing the voice to ring out clearly.

Bochra frowned in confusion, before he remembered this scene. It was the Eitreih'ch'Rihan of nearly two decades ago. Saeihr, little more than a toddler, had performed a folkloric song at her father Jarok's party one evening. Her sweet, innocent joy made Bochra's heart freeze over with guilt and shame. It was difficult to believe she was the short-haired, serious girl that had departed just minutes ago.

Bochra nearly choked when he heard Jarok's voice commenting, and realized that he must have been the one holding the video recording device. It all came back to him at once: Tomalak's trap, Jarok's despair- he had not witnessed it, but he had heard enough by now to be keenly aware of what had gone down. Jarok gone, his daughter lost and vulnerable, and now destroyed by Bochra's own lies.

_Tomalak ruined the one, and I ruined the other, _Bochra thought as Saeihr's child voice joyously sang on the recording, unaware of her future. _Saeihr, S'vrian, Taibak. Are we so selfish we believe our own happiness is worth more than theirs? _

_But what else is there to do? You can't help how you feel. I realized that on Galorndon Core, when I felt empathy for a human, when my need to survive outweighed all my morals and values. _

The first video segment ended, and another scene came on. Bochra shut his eyes, unable to watch for a second. It was the dance Saeihr had reminded him of last night, the one they had shared as children. Gavik had not yet been injured, Bochra recalled, and his mother had not yet gone. Jarok and Aiodann were together, alive, beaming at their little girl. Tomalak may have been there in the crowd, with S'vrian and their son Narak, a teenager at the time, surly and defiant during that time in his life. Soldiers and their children, strong and happy- the world had seemed perfect then.

"Time must pass."

Bochra shut the device off, turned in his chair. Tomalak had entered without warning.

"I know," Bochra said ruefully. "I would not trade my life now for any part of my childhood. I only wish it had not cost so much to get here."

Tomalak came over to him, eying the device. "Everything costs something. The best things are the most expensive."

Bochra leaned back in his chair. "Rha? Everyone else seems to have it so easy."

"You only see their surface," smiled Tomalak. "Their Mnhei'sahe. If anyone looked at us, they would not believe we are hiding such a secret and getting away with it. They would be envious of our ability to indulge our perverse desires and still maintain our respect. They would wonder how we managed it so easily."

"Easily!"

"It would appear that way." Tomalak tilted Bochra's head up to his by the chin. "You do not realize how strong you are."

"Saeihr looked at me as if I were heartless," Bochra said. "Is that what appearing strong does? Make people see you as a monster?"

"Not a monster." Tomalak sat on the edge of Bochra's desk. "Well- perhaps sometimes, as a monster. What did you think of me when you learned of my plans for Jarok? Hm?"

Bochra lowered his gaze.

"We all feel so weak and emotional inside, that it's hard for us to comprehend the appearance of strength," Tomalak said. "You could not understand my choices during our last deployment, and I'm sure you saw them as heartless. Saeihr feels the same way about your choices."

"So, I've become you."

Tomalak laughed, and tousled Bochra's hair. "Do not flatter yourself."

Bochra stood to face him. "Seriously, however . . . did you feel this way?"

Bochra could see the walls of caution go up over Tomalak's expression.

"Over what?" Tomalak asked.

"Galorndon Core, Jarok . . . me? S'vrian? Any of it . . . All of it?"

"What would the difference be if I did, or did not?" Tomalak asked. "It would not make you feel any better, or I any worse. Regrets are personal, private, and they have no place being thrown about conversation like idle chatter. I think you understand that now."

"I wish I didn't."

Tomalak drew him close by the shoulders. "But you _**do**_." He smiled, stroking the side of Bochra's face. "So much as I enjoyed the awkward child you were, you've grown out of that. For a while, I thought it might never happen, and then it did, and it feels like it happened so fast. I feel old."

"You're not so old, Riov."

"No, not _so_ old." Tomalak grinned, and pulled the youth into a kiss. "But you know the feeling now. You felt it with Saeihr, didn't you?"

"You're right, I did," Bochra agreed. "I felt ages older than her when I saw her change so suddenly. It's funny, I felt so young on Galorndon Core, like I was going to die a child, almost. Afterwards, that was gone. I felt . . . yes, you're right, old."

"Years and days mean nothing," Tomalak told him. "It's those feelings that mark the passage of time. Once you get used to them, you'll come to appreciate them. And perhaps, they will cure your recklnessness, eh?"

He swatted the young man, and kissed him, long and deeply. Regretfully, Tomalak finally stood, drawing out of it as slowly as possible. He held the youth's face for a time, and then released him.

"Now, I have a ship to fly out of here," he said. "I will be expecting you on the bridge, khre'Arrain."

"Ie, rekkhai."

Tomalak turned to go, went back and gave Bochra one last, passionate kiss. Despite all the turmoil they had fought through on-planet, the look they shared at the end of it was clear:

Neither had any regrets.

**Fehill**

**(End)**

* * *

**Closing Notes**

Some of my earliest memories are of being a young tween in junior high, coming home from school and watching "Star Trek: The Next Generation" in regular syndication. Sometimes my mother, not a science fiction fan at all, would watch it with me, as the drama was so engaging it transcended its genre. ST:TNG introduced me to sci-fi, and sparked a great love for the genre that would be with me all my life. Personal problems with school and videogames brought me out of the fandom for a while, but I never forgot that series. Years later, thanks to the great innovation of TV-on-DVD, I began revisiting ST:TNG, and exploring ST:TOS. I still watch the episodes from both great series, whether I've seen them or not, but TNG will always hold a special place in my heart.

This story stems from a fascination I have always had with the Romulans. Why the Romulans? Well, while so many fans aspire to the cool rationality of the Vulcans, or identify with the primal brutality of the Klingons, or ponder why humanity has not evolved to the maturity of the Federation, I find the Romulans to be the most honest species, the most like our current state of mind. They are paranoid, proud, passionate, and they dislike those not like themselves: exactly like modern society, no matter what anyone says/pretends. Besides, their species is the most mysterious: we never get a sense of their culture outside the military, though we know they do have a culture, and they're never portrayed as being anything but single-minded. Yes, they are single-minded, but they are still people, of a kind. I wanted to explore that side of the species, and since there is so little of them in the canon, it gave me a lot of room to grow with that portrayal.

I used a lot of non-canon material for this story, as I said in the opening notes. I have the links for those sites I found invaluable down below. Most of those sites used RPG books and non-canon stories that fleshed out the Romulan species wonderfully, right down to giving them a language. I tried to blend the language into the narrative as best as possible, though I'm sure syntax, etc, is not perfect. It comes off as a kind of Romglish, like the way Spanish and English get run together in the US as Spanglish. This was my choice, not for convenience; I thought it was the best way to flavor the text with ethnicity without completely assaulting the reader with too much alien language. If you still feel assaulted, I apologize, and there is a collection of terms down below (useful to print out, which I did for reference while writing this).

Originally, all I had written of this story was "Part One", inspired directly after I rewatched that episode of ST:TNG, "The Enemy". I latched onto Bochra, who seemed a bit of a confused and open-minded character, for a Romulan. All I wanted to show at first was the fallout of those sympathies in a Romulan society, and get Tomalak into a story; anyone that knows me, knows that Tomalak is exactly my father-figure, older guy type. The whole thing evolved into a kind of soap opera, however. I ended up picturing it as a blend of soap opera, space opera, and anime drama. I incorporated other characters from the canon, such as Taibak, Sela, and Neral, and tried to show some background on what might have led to those characters' canon roles in TNG.

The arc with Taibak seemed a bit sudden and rushed at first, even to me. When I first wrote those scenes, I thought it might have been an error to write him into the slash, but then I realized that it was absolutely necessary (at least for me): I always wondered how Taibak got the information about Geordi's VISOR, information he used in a plot hatched with Sela, to brainwash Geordi into being their own sleeper agent [ST:TNG Season 4, Episode 24, "The Mind's Eye"]. I assumed that, since Geordi had had Bochra use his VISOR during the Galorndon Core incident, Bochra gave the military that info, and that was why I needed to show Taibak using that information for his own devious plot. Taibak developed into an actual character, though. The back story I gave him, him being half-Vulcan, and that half-breed status leading him to identify with Sela- I came to like Taibak a bit, by the end. It also all tied together more neatly than I expected, with Bochra opening him up to intimacy, and that need for connection leading him to join Sela. I would very much like to continue that story, and Sela's story in general, in the future.

Unfortunately, Neral only got a small appearance. I used the younger Neral persona, the one seen in the "Unification" episodes (ST:TNG, Season 5, Episodes 7 and 8). I imagine he and S'vrian will have an affair while she spies on him for the Tal Shiar (very CW's "Nikita"-like). I also imagine him eventually having an affair with Sela, whom I picture having an affair with all the (suspiciously cute) Romulans she schemes with throughout the series. I really want to lead this story into the "Unification" arc. I don't know if I ever will, but it would be amazing if I could, especially given that I could write some tales about Spock's days on Romulus, and which side of the issue all these characters might fall on.

S'vrian, speaking of, was an interesting character for me. I picture her to be a cross between Maggie Q and Litchi from "BlazBlue", but a tiny bit more mature in age: a lanky, beautiful, sultry woman that can appear scatter-brained and breezy, or deadly. Introducing her as Tomalak's cheated on, civilian wife was fun, and it was great to develop her into the kind of threat she became, but also explore that she is a woman. She has realized all the ambitions she gave up love for, and now what? She wants love, from Tomalak or anyone, she wants that life bond, but it doesn't come on demand. Did it pass her by? She wanted to grasp onto Tomalak and force them to bond, at the last moment, but of course, that could never work. I think, a part of Tomalak would have bonded with her if he could have, as they're a perfect match. But, no matter what species you are in the universe, you cannot choose who you love. Though she deals with it, there is a tragedy to S'vrian . . . to the entire false marriage she shares with Tomalak.

Saeihr and Bochra danced on the very edges of this same lie. I took a Victorian approach to homosexuality here: it is unaccepted in society, to the point where anyone would be desperate to have a spouse just for appearance's sake. The Romulans are proud and hate 'flaws', so even if hiding a homosexual affair can be done, and easily enough, it brings the shame of being an outsider regardless: hence Bochra's struggle to accept this, and his little discipline fetish. In a culture where these things are totally unspoken of, to save face, it is very confusing to experience them, especially for one as young as Bochra. The last conversation between he and Tomalak, where he says that everyone else looks normal and fine, and Tomalak explains no one shows their pain on the surface, was to express this.

I loved Saeihr as a character, I think there is a little bit of her in anyone that's ever been a little innocent. Her name means "sun" in Romulan, and she is a bright way of sunshine- until the end. I imagine she will grow up and be truly the sun, warm and kind when it's mellow, harsh and glaring when it's full force is upon you. Again, if my creativity does not dry up completely, I would love to continue her story.

She may end up with Tomalak's son, Narak. This character appeared in some non-canon works, which I have not read: I only took the name from those sources, and the hint that his relationship with his father may be a little stormy, with a little rivalry. I'm sure he's quite an interesting Riov. Saeihr is keeping a secret from him, though, and how will that go? What would his reaction be to the fact that his father has a male lover, and Bochra, of all people, a childhood acquaintance? Another theme I would like to explore.

All in all, I'm very happy with the way the story turned out. Taking on ST is a huge task, and even though I'm satisfied, I know I didn't capture a quarter of the detail the series did. I did my best, though, and in my mind's eye, I can picture Romulus and its people, these characters, original or canon or whatever they may be. The beautiful thing about ST is how it makes you want to crawl inside its mythos and live there, flawed or not, whichever species you identify with, whatever sci-fi adventures you imagine. I call stories of this magnitude "world-builders": they create their own reality. For me, a few series that have managed that are "Star Trek" (all the shows), "Battlestar Galactica" (modern reboot), "Game of Thrones", "Final Fantasy VII", "Harry Potter", the "Buffy"/"Angel" mythos, the CW's "Supernatural" (who has ever done mythology better?), "Firefly", "Doctor Who" (all shows), Asimov's entire body of robot-based work and "Foundation" series, and the books of the "Dune" series, to name a few of the absolute best. It takes a great attention to detail and exhaustive creativity to do this, and I live for that level of talent. I don't have it, few do, but we can all appreciate it and enjoy it. Role-playing, fan fiction writing, card games, tabletop games, comics, books- there are endless ways to be a part of these fictions that are created, and it just expands the fandom.

I hope you've enjoyed my little piece of addition to the ST mythos. It was amazing to write. I thank you so much for reading, this story or any of my stories. It means the world to me.


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